


Unfashionable

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 05:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18614248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: Poor Aziraphale feels his wardrobe is outdated for the wrong reasons.





	Unfashionable

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only my first piece I've published, but also an effort to write a more Aziraphale-centered piece. I find Crowley much easier to write for whatever reason. It's also a something I kind of thought up in the shower and threw together in about 45 minutes afterwards, so I hope it's not too awful.

Aziraphale stood before the slightly smudged mirror, eyeing the modern beige suit he was currently wearing.  He had just put it on, but the expensive light blue cotton shirt had already taken on a bit of a wrinkled look and the particular shade of beige the coat and pants were seemed to scream “bookseller!” to  him despite his effort to shed that image.  He gave a sigh and wished to be wearing his comfortable old coat and worn vest rather than this new ensemble.  But one did have to keep up with the times and Aziraphale had been woefully lacking in that area, he realized.

The last straw was the young university students at the cafe he stopped at.  It had become one of his favorite haunts because of their absolutely divine cocoa.  He had wandered in there every morning this week, the glutton. 

There they sat at table by the counter, laptops out, textbooks scattered in the remaining spaces, mobiles in hand, laughing, and talking, and not getting any work done.  They sat easily in their chairs, one young man with his arm around the back of the chair of the young woman beside him.   Students enjoying themselves in the careless manner that seemed to come easy to the city’s twenty-something-year-olds.  Their laughter drifted up from the table and filled the small cafe.

Aziraphale was to their right, waiting by the pick-up area for the cup of cocoa he was anxious to carry away to his bookshop where he could enjoy it along with the new, rare edition that just arrived yesterday.  He was finding the internet to be a wonderful way to collect rare books now that he had finally figured out to actually navigate it.  Maybe he would have to take Crowley’s suggestion and actually update his computer.  He was still running Windows XP (it was a wonder to the more technologically advanced demon that the damn operating system could still handle the internet).  Maybe he’d update to Windows 7 one of these days.  And get one of those smart phones or whatever they called those mobiles that did more than just make and receive calls.

The barista behind the counter set his steaming cocoa on the counter, giving him a friendly smile.  He returned it, reaching out to grab his cup off the counter when he heard the young man sitting so casually close to the young woman beside him sneer, “Is that _tartan_?” 

“Yeah,” another young man at the table replied, slipping a not-so-subtle look in Aziraphale’s direction.  Someone else snickered and several mobiles were surreptitiously pointed his direction.  Mostly.  One girl didn’t seem to care if he noticed her taking photos of him.  The smirk on her face made him feel ashamed of his own fashion sense for the first time in six thousand years.

 “This is going onTumblr,” giggled one of the women, thinking she was whispering softly enough for the strange man dressed like a 1950s professor to not hear.  Unfortunately, angel ears are very sensitive and Aziraphale heard her comment as well as several others that stung him to the very core of his soul.

“My grandfather didn’t even dress like that back in the day.”

Giggle.  “Oh my God.  Does he not realize what he looks like?”

“That vest needs to be burned.”

They just kept coming, washing over the sands of Aziraphale’s confidence, taking bits of it away until he could no longer bear it. He snatched his purchase from the counter and swiftly made for the door before those cameras on the students’ mobiles could snap anymore pictures of him.

A ten-minute walk later, the cocoa vanished to the worn tabletop in the backroom of the bookshop, Aziraphale found himself in the clothing shop, whose fitting room he now occupied, grabbing clothing left and right and bolting to the back to try it all on, trying his best to hide his shame and the tears that threatened to spill from his beautiful baby blue eyes.  Did people really think that of his clothing?  How could Crowley, the fashion plate that he was, stand to be seen with such an outdated laughingstock as himself?

The beige suit was all wrong.  It was just Aziraphale all over again and he didn’t want to be Aziraphale.  He wanted to be someone who could walk down the street and hold his head high, knowing nobody was going to point, laugh and take photos of him.  The suit ended up wadded up in the corner of the bench in front of the fitting room mirror.

He slipped into a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain, soft t-shirt in a lighter shade of blue, all topped off by a fashionable leather jacket of the type Crowley would favor in a dark chocolate color.  There.  He looked very modern and casual indeed.  Nothing about this look screamed “bookseller!”

Feeling an uneasy sort of confidence, he strode out of the fitting room, new clothes still on his back with the removed tags clutched in his grasp.  He handed them and the required amount to purchase the clothing over at the till, then had the clerk who helped him shove his old clothing in a bag, hidden away from view where it belonged.  He felt a little off, a little guilty about unceremoniously banishing his beloved, worn clothing to the inside of the shopping bag, but he pointedly ignored that feeling as he headed back to his bookshop.

It wasn’t empty.  Slouching comfortably in the reading chair by one of the ancient bookshelves, Crowley looked up from the game he was idly playing on his mobile. 

“Angel, I brought . . .” the demon stopped short, almost dropping his mobile as he stood up to get a better look at Aziraphale.  His long fingers slid his sunglasses down his nose and an eyebrow cocked.  “What are you wearing?”

Aziraphale returned the scrutiny with a bit of a haughty look.  “I just decided to update my wardrobe.”  The tears were welling up again and he looked down towards the bag he carried to keep Crowley from seeing them.

“Who made fun of you?” asked Crowley quietly.

“How did you know?” the pained blue eyes met the yellow serpentine ones.

Crowley smiled softly, “I know you pretty well by now, Aziraphale.  And there is nothing wrong with you.  I love that you’re a bit of a bastard for an angel.  I love that you hoard books and chase off customers who try to buy them.  I love that you always finish my dessert when I leave some on my plate.  I love that you’re willing to get roaring drunk and argue about stupid things with me.”

He took Aziraphale’s perfectly manicured hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.  Aziraphale looked up at him with surprised eyes shining with unshed tears.  One escaped down his cheek and Crowley wiped it away. 

“You do?”

“I do.  I also love that no matter how hard I try to drag you into the present, you stubbornly keep that curly, blond head of yours firmly stuck in the Fifties.”  Crowley was now removing the brand new leather jacket from Aziraphale’s shoulders.  “You don’t need this.  You are not you without your tartan bowtie and old vest.  I love that you wear those and don’t care what the world thinks.  You are very unique and you have no reason to be embarrassed.  I’ll smite the next person who insults you in such a way, angel.”

“I do appreciate that you would be willing to go to such lengths to avenge my honor, but I’d really rather you not smite anyone.” 

Crowley threw the jacket on the chair he had previously occupied and picked up the shopping bag Aziraphale had dropped.  With a sly smile on his face he took his angel’s hand and started to head up the stairs.

“Besides, I’m fashionable enough for both of us.  Now let’s go upstairs, get that stuff off of you and I can show just how much I do love you.”

Feeling very much buoyed by the loving words of his demon, Aziraphale laughed at Crowley’s brag about being fashionable enough for the pair and allowed him to lead him up to the bedroom.


End file.
